The Deep Dark Woods
by Hellinbrand
Summary: Pre-BDM. 'Serenity' accepts a job carrying a precious cargo through Reaver territory. Luckily for them, their convoy is under the protection of a famous Reaver Hunter and his crew. Everything should go smooth, right? Rated M for gore and violence.
1. Chapter 1

Mal stepped through the open doors of the saloon. Zoe and Jayne followed. His gaze swept the room, coming to rest on the solitary figure behind the bar.

"Mr Swearengen?" he said.

"Upstairs," the barman replied, staring at him from behind a thick beard.

"Captain Reynolds?"

Mal turned. A short man in a cheap grey suit was watching him from the landing that overlooked the taproom.

"Yes?" Mal replied.

"I'm Al Swearengen. We can talk in my office."

Swearengen turned and walked towards the far end of the landing without waiting for a reply. Mal followed.

Swearengen seated himself behind his desk. Standing behind him was a large, bearded man wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Mal noted the knife at the man's hip as he and his crew took their places in front of the desk.

"Whisky?" Swearengen asked, producing a bottle and a set of glasses from a drawer.

"No, thank you," said Mal, silencing Jayne with a pointed look.

Swearengen shrugged and poured himself a drink. Mal used the brief moment to size him up: middle aged, with a dark complexion on the far side of grizzled. He had a reputation for toughness and he looked every bit of it. Mal had certainly not failed to notice the faint red stain on the boards beneath his feet.

"This your crew?" Swearegen asked.

"Part of it: this is Zoe, my first mate, and Jayne. All told we've got another five souls aboard."

"This is Dan," said Swearengen, gesturing to the man standing behind him.

"You're probably wondering what it is I want transported," Swearengen continued, pouring himself another whisky.

"Can't say it didn't cross my mind, wage you're offering," said Mal.

"But you're not going to ask?"

"I don't, as a rule."

"Good," said Swearengen brusquely, "I don't like dealing space captains, not if I can help it. They get too used to ruling over their own little flying kingdoms. They forget how to deal with regular folk. They start making all sorts of _pihua _demands, when all you need them to do is transport a lump of _fen _from one rock to another."

"We're takin' on _fen?_" Jayne whispered, disgusted.

"Not _fen; _gold," said Swearengen. Jayne's head whipped round hungrily. Mal's reaction was confined to a raised eyebrow but he was no less surprised: _Serenity _rarely handled such valuable cargo.

"Yeah, it's gold," Swearengen repeated, "Nearly a tonne, refined but unstamped. All under a dead man's seal, of course."

"Of course," Mal echoed. A dead man's seal was a highly effective way of securing precious goods. An explosive device was placed in the lid of the container and linked to a combination lock. Three failed attempts to enter the correct combination, or any attempt to tamper with the lock, would trigger an explosion that would destroy not only the would-be thief but the goods as well.

"How soon can you have it off world?" Swearengen asked.

"Where is it now?" said Mal.

"Under canvas out in the woods; Dan can show you where."

"If needs be we can be underway by midnight."

"Good. There are some who might start asking awkward questions if they should hear of my recent windfall, particularly with regards to the location of its previous owner, so I want it secure and off world as soon as possible."

"What's the destination?"

"Jefferson," said Swearengen, "You'll hand it over to my man there, who'll see that it gets forwarded on."

"Run to Jefferson will take the best part of three weeks," said Mal, "You might want to consider somewhere a mite closer if you want it stowed away quick."

"Jefferson's the only place far enough away to cast doubt over the manner in which I acquired it," replied Swearenegen, "and I want it there inside a week."

"You realise that'll mean going through the Woods?" said Mal.

"The Dark Woods? That's Reaver territory!" said Jayne fearfully.

"Right you are. That's… not going to be a problem is it, captain?" asked Swearengen, watching Jayne's reaction like a wolf watching a limping sheep.

"No, no problem at all," said Mal quickly. He gave Jayne a threatening glance. Jayne scowled but said nothing.

"Of course I don't except you to fly solo," said Swearengen, still watching Jayne with a mixture of curiosity and sadistic amusement, "I bought you a place in a convoy heading out that way. It's guarded by some big shot Hunter named Hatton; very good rep'. Sometimes comes out with as many ships as he went in with.

"Rendezvous is in two days at Nova Point Station. You'll get half your payment now, other half when you hand over the gold in Jefferson."

"Shiny," said Mal.

* * *

_Take my love, take my land_  
_Take me where I cannot stand_  
_I don't care, I'm still free_  
_You can't take the sky from me_

_Take me out to the black_  
_Tell them I ain't comin' back_  
_Burn the land and boil the sea_  
_You can't take the sky from me_

_There's no place I can be_  
_Since I found Serenity_  
_But you can't take the sky from me..._

_**The Deep Dark Woods**_

Chapter One

"So, what are these 'Dark Woods'?" Simon asked.

"Some big nebula: it covers about eight sectors between Medea and Gray Goose," said Kaylee with a shrug, "I don't know myself."

"They're a whole heap of trouble, that's what they are. Captain's gotta have a death wish, taking us through there," growled Jayne.

The crew were milling around on the floor of the cargo hold. They had made the rendezvous at Nova Point without any trouble. Swearengen's gold was safe in the darkest corner of _Serenity's _hold. Shewas easily the smallest ship in the convoy; the rest were long-haul merchantmen, broad and thickly armoured for deep space flights. Before they could depart, however, each ship was to receive a visit from the Hunters who were guarding the convoy. Mal had been reluctant but they had insisted.

"They're just coming alongside," Wash announced as he descended the stairs into the hold.

"Wash, do you know anything 'bout the Dark Woods?" Kaylee asked.

"Sure. It's one of the standard horror stories the instructors tell you in flight school," said Wash, moving to stand beside Zoe, "There's a special kind of radiation there that messes with a ship's computers. In some places it's so intense that your ship just shuts down. Even where it's lighter you can't use long range scanners or navigation programmes. You have to fly the whole way on visual."

"The radiation also affects communicators, so you can't call for help if you find yourself going off course," Zoe added.

"Like that's your biggest worry," said Jayne darkly.

Simon looked curiously at Jayne.

"Dark Woods are Reaver territory," Zoe explained, "They don't care about scanners or communicators. They just sit tight and wait for a ship to fly past. There's no way of knowing when or where they'll come at you."

"Some Hunter crews offer to protect convoys of ships but most people can't afford the fee, so they just take the long way round," said Wash.

"Sounds good to me," said Jayne.

_Serenity _gave a gentle shake as the Hunters' ship bumped up against her. Simon had seen her while _Serenity_ was orbiting Nova Point: an ugly brute of a ship, like a great grey fist covered in guns.

Complicated metallic sounds were heard on the far side of the door as the two ships locked together. Simon glanced round at the others. They were nervous. Jayne was perched on a bench, brows knotted as he raised and lowered a dumbbell. Book stood nearby, flicking through his Bible. Kaylee was fidgeting, unable to keep still. Wash was chattering to no one in particular. Even Zoe seemed distracted, her hand going to and from her carbine every few seconds. Mal, arms folded in a defiant knot, was standing ahead of the rest, facing the airlock. Only Inara and River seemed unconcerned; the one serene, the other fascinated by the patterns she was scuffing on the deck with her combat boots.

Simon understood the crew's nerves. Reaver Hunters were a strange breed. They chose to do what no other spacefarer would dream of: search out and fight Reavers. They worked on the very fringes of settled space, never staying in one place, always moving. Suspicion followed them everywhere. People seemed to fear that the madness of their prey had somehow rubbed off onto them.

Simon had never met a Hunter himself but the older members of the crew seemed very wary of allowing them aboard. Simon had been concerned about allowing them to meet River but Mal had explained that the Hunters were effectively outlaws themselves. The Alliance still officially denied that Reavers existed. To them, the Hunters were criminals. It was not in the Hunters' interest to call the marshals in.

There was a hiss of compressed air being released and the airlock swung open. Everyone froze to watch as a line of strange figures filed into the hold. Simon's initial thought was that they had stepped straight out of a history book. They wore dark leathers, overlaid with steel splints or tunics of steel rings. A few wore helmets with visors that covered their faces. Some of them wore heavy belts or bandoleers, decorated with what looked disturbingly like human scalps.

Their weapons were, likewise, unconventional. There was the usual mix of small arms common to all space crews but each Hunter also carried some form of blade: more like meat cleavers than knives. Their faces were pale, a sure sign of men who had spent too long under artificial ship's lights. Their expressions were blank; practically inscrutable. They did not display a flicker of interest or emotion as they lined up beside the airlock.

To say that Simon was taken aback by their captain's appearance would have been a gross understatement. Having seen his crew, Simon had pictured someone akin to a Viking chieftain; a bear holding a battleaxe. He was not prepared for the dapper young man who strolled confidently up to Mal and doffed his white Stetson to him.

"Wade Hatton, at your service."

"Malcolm Reynolds," grunted Mal, clearly as stunned as Simon was.

"So this is the _Serenity, _huh?" said Hatton, glancing round the hold, "She's a _Firefly_, am I right?"

"Yes. And it's just _Serenity,_" replied Mal, still agape at Hatton's appearance. Apart from his white Stetson, he wore a red shirt and dark pants, both cut to the latest fashion and in exquisite taste. Simon felt underdressed.

"Beautiful model; beautiful," Hatton was murmuring, "Don't see enough of them in our line of work. Who's your mechanic?"

Kaylee raised a tentative hand. Simon noticed that she was blushing slightly.

"Ah, charming!" said Hatton, taking her hand and bowing over it with all the formal gallantry of a duke, "Miss…?"

"Kaylee. Just… just Kaylee."

The blush had become a glow. Simon managed not to scowl. Jealous as he was, he could understand her reaction: Hatton was classically handsome, with a square jaw, neat moustache and broad shoulders tapering into slim hips.

"Kaylee, I wonder if you would mind giving my mechanic a tour of your engine room?" Hatton asked, "Not that I doubt your competence for one moment but we do have to make sure that every vessel is in a fit state to make the journey."

"No… no, of course," said Kaylee.

Hatton gave one of his crewmembers a nod and a beefy man with close cropped hair stepped forward to follow Kaylee up to the engine room. Simon watched them go. He did not fail to notice Kaylee glance back at Hatton.

Hatton was making his way across the hold, introducing himself to each member of _Serenity's _crew in turn. Mal was trying to dissuade him by being as rude as possible but Hatton was not to be deterred. He shared a brief, soldierly exchange with Zoe, laughed heartily at one of Wash's quips, before pausing beside Jayne.

"That's a Starlight, isn't it?" he said, nodding at the knife at Jayne's hip.

"Yeah," Jayne mumbled.

"May I?" Hatton asked, holding out his hand. Jayne hastily unsheathed the knife and handed it to him. Hatton held it lightly in his hand, running a finger lovingly down the blade. He tossed it up, caught it by the point, tested it for balance across his finger, and then handed it back to Jayne.

"A fine weapon," he said, "And in good condition too. Have you had it long?"

"Sixteen years," said Jayne, "It was a present from my pop. Family heirloom, sorta thing."

"You wear it often?"

"Never without it."

"Good man. I don't doubt that you can use it."

"Best I've ever seen," said Mal brusquely, although there was no disguising the distinct note of pride in his voice.

"I hope you won't have to prove it," Hatton laughed, "But it's always wise to carry a blade with you in Reaver territory. All my men have one," he gestured to his crew, "I've seen Reavers shrug off bullets as if they didn't even feel them. Sometimes a stout knife is all you can depend on."

The colour had drained from Jayne's face but his only reply was a determined nod. Hatton now moved along to speak with Book.

"A shepherd!" he exclaimed to Mal, "Why, captain, your crew are full of surprises. How are you, preacher?"

"Better for seeing your… professional crew, captain," said Book.

"Professional?! They're rogues and scoundrels to a man!" Hatton replied with a laugh, "I'm afraid there's precious little spiritual guidance to be had in these parts. Might I trouble you to lead a service or two for them during the voyage?"

"W-why of course!" said Book, beaming.

"Splendid," said Hatton, moving on to address Inara.

"Forgive me," he said, bowing to her, "Your captain did not inform me. I would have brought a gift if I had known that I would be introduced to such an eminent and… beautiful lady."

"Yes, he's so thoughtless," said Inara sweetly. She glanced at Mal, who made a face.

"I regret that we should meet like this," said Hatton earnestly, "Perhaps, when I am next at liberty to visit some civilised world, I might have the honour of sharing your company, my lady?"

"I look forward to it, captain," said Inara, favouring him with an especially charming smile.

Hatton returned the smile, bowed once again, and turned at last to address Simon and River.

"Dr. Tam, our medic, and his sister. That's all the crew," said Mal, trying to hurry Hatton off the ship as fast as possible but Hatton seemed oblivious to Mal's promptings.

"Ah, the old sawbones!" he said, taking Simon's hand in a firm grip, "A pleasure. That waistcoat is Osiran silk, am I right? You're a long way from home, doctor."

"Yes… I am. I'm… helping people; people who don't normally have much access to medicine."

"And you brought your sister along for the ride? How touching," said Hatton, giving Simon a shrewd look.

"And what might your name be?" he asked, turning to River. River stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed, then cried:

"No! No, I'm not!"

Hatton frowned, dumbfounded, as River took a step back.

"I'm not a rabbit! I'm not!" she continued to shout, "You can't just put on the red jacket and blow your trumpets and expect me to dance for you, 'cause I won't!"

"River, hush, it's okay, River," Simon murmured, catching her in his arms, trying to place himself between her and Hatton.

"Maybe later," said Hatton, smiling. He turned back to Mal.

"Well, captain, if that's all?"

"Yeah, that's all."

"Then I bid you farewell. The convoy will be underway within the hour."

Hatton paused by the hatch as his crew filed back through.

"God be with you, captain," he said, "This will be a dangerous journey. Pray that you live to see the end of it."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"So, what did ya think?" Kaylee asked the others. She was curled up on a chair in the common area beside the galley.

"About what, dear?" asked Zoe, not looking up from the handgun that was lying in pieces on the table in front of her.

"Of Wade, o' course!" said Kaylee.

"She means Captain Hatton," Simon explained, eyes fixed on his book but his attention clearly elsewhere.

"He's a fine lookin' man," Zoe conceded.

"I know, isn't he _swai_?" said Kaylee enthusiastically, "Ah! Those thighs!"

"He has got a nice pair of legs on him," said Zoe, pausing for a moment of reflection.

"Why thank you. Glad you noticed," said Mal as he entered, heading towards the galley.

"Not you: Wade!" said Kaylee, grinning mischievously at him. Mal made a noncommittal grunt.

"Why ain't you wearin' your gun?" he asked her as he crossed over to the common area, a mug of imitation coffee steaming in his hand.

"It gets in the way," said Kaylee, pouting like a child being forced into uncomfortable formal wear.

"Deal with it," said Mal, "It's for your protection, _mei-mei._"

Kaylee made a face as she stood up and headed aft to retrieve her holster from the engine room. Mal had given one to every member of the crew, in case they were suddenly boarded. The only exception was River. It had been agreed that she was potentially more dangerous with one handgun than a whole ship full of Reavers.

This was not the only security measure that Mal had insisted on. Zoe and Jayne had stripped and reassembled every firearm aboard, from Vera down to the smallest handgun. The hold had been rearranged to clear a killing space between the airlock and a barricade of containers at the far end. Boxes of ammunition and hand grenades had been piled up there, ready for use.

Life aboard _Serenity _was often claustrophobic, especially on deep space flights, but now it reached new heights of tension. No one seemed able to settle to any one task. Sometimes they would lose whole hours just sitting; waiting in anticipation for something that never happened. Everyone avoided sitting near a window if they could help it. It was too easy to imagine that they could see the outline of a spaceship in the shifting clouds of the nebula.

The worst chore aboard was to act as lookout in the cockpit. The convoy of ships was flying among mountains of burnished gold, slashed through with rainbow colours. They wound through the deep valleys, always dwarfed by the encircling clouds. It should have been a pleasant experience, with little to do but sit and admire their beauty, but every corner turned threatened to reveal a Reaver ship bearing down on them.

They had not seen Hatton, or any of his crew, since the inspection three days ago. The only sign of their presence was their ugly, battle-scarred ship making its regular sweeps up and down the convoy. Its appearance gave little comfort. The whole nebula seemed to be a hostile presence, threatening to overwhelm the little Hunter ship at will.

"So… what do you think of Hatton?" Simon asked Mal.

"I don't like him," said Mal.

"There's a surprise," said Zoe wryly.

"Something about him bothers me, is all," Mal muttered.

"River didn't like him," said Simon pointedly, "And if she is a Reader…"

"Honey, much as we all love her, you've got to admit that she ain't the most stable in the brainpan," said Zoe, "I've seen her take a dislike to a light fitting before now."

Simon was about to offer a reply when Wash burst in, shouting:

"Mal, it's red!"

Mal and Zoe were on their feet in an instant.

"Alright people, you know the drill!" Mal barked as he turned to follow Wash into the cockpit.

The radiation unique to the Dark Woods nebula prevented conventional ship-to-ship communication, forcing the convoy to rely on more primitive methods. A light had been attached to the belly of the Hunters' ship. If it was blue it meant that there was no danger. Red meant that a Reaver had been spotted. Mal reached the bridge in time to see the Hunters' ship heading down the length of the convoy, a red light glimmering beneath her.

"Direction?" Mal asked, eyes already scanning the surrounding clouds.

"No idea," said Wash, taking the helm, "Could be coming at us from anywhere."

Throughout _Serenity_ the rest of the crew rushed to take their places. Mal had insisted on them rehearsing the procedure three times a day, every day since entering the Woods, so there was little confusion. Zoe, Jayne and Book were emptying the armoury and carrying all the firearms down to the hold. Kaylee took her station in the engine room while Simon prepared the surgery for casualties. Inara was tasked with watching over River in the common area.

The convoy was reforming as agreed prior to leaving Nova Point. The long, exposed line of flight contracted into a ring, with each ship watching a different angle of approach. The Hunters flew free of the formation, circling the convoy like a defensive mother bird.

In _Serenity's _cockpit Mal was craning his neck round to try and see out of the corner of the front window. The golden clouds continued to shift but no ship materialised in the mist. The Hunters circled the convoy. If they had spotted a Reaver they were not moving to engage it.

Seconds later Mal had spotted it. It was coming down out of a patch of cloud that seconds ago he would have sworn was empty. It was high above the convoy, diving at them from behind on the port side. There was only one vessel: an old mining ship built to ferry ore from deep space asteroids back to smelting stations. It looked like a flying box with two stubby wings attached to the sides. Even from a distance Mal could see the jagged lumps of scrap bolted to the prow, torn from the carcasses of captured ships.

Mal and Wash shared a glance. They both knew how helpless they were. If the Hunters were destroyed then the convoy was lost. Even if the Hunters managed to stop that ship, more Reavers could lie in wait. They were three days into the Woods, with four days flight ahead. Turning back now was just as risky as pressing on. Everything depended on the Hunters.

With the Reaver ship now in plain view the Hunters at last changed course to intercept. They placed themselves directly in the Reavers' flight path. Mal was reminded of the games of 'chicken' the workers on his mother's ranch used to play. Two workers, each riding a quad bike, drove towards one another at top speed. The first one to swerve lost. Mal doubted that the Reavers would swerve.

"Why don't they fire?" Wash wondered as the gap between the two ships narrowed. Mal could not answer him. The Hunters were drawing closer and closer to the Reavers but their guns remained silent.

For a second Mal thought that the Hunters intended to ram the Reavers. He held his breath, bracing himself for the collision he would not feel. There was a confused moment when the two ships seemed to merge into one and then they were flying on, the Hunters now in the Reavers' wake.

"_Shun-sheng duh gao-wahn_, that's some pilot!" Wash gasped. Mal agreed; the Hunters must have rolled aside at the last possible moment to avoid a collision.

Mal saw little bursts of light sparkling at the stern of the Hunters' ship: they were at last firing, from concealed gun ports. Mal's fists were clenched at his side as he watched and waited, hoping that the Reavers would take the bait and turn to follow the Hunters away from the convoy.

The Reavers began to come about, albeit slowly; the mining ship was not being designed for dog fighting. The Hunters held back, sprinkling them with gunfire. Flames burst from the Reavers' stern as they fired their thrusters, bounding after the Hunters. The Hunters' speed increased in turn as they raced ahead, guns still firing. Suddenly they turned to starboard and vanished into the clouds. The Reavers followed. Mal craned forward, nose almost pressed against the window as he tried to follow the two dim shapes, hidden as if behind a golden gauze. There were flashes of bright light, perhaps from explosives but Mal could not tell.

The minutes dragged past. The shapes grew dimmer. Mal was aware of the blood pumping through his temples, bringing a hot flush to his forehead. A dark shape was coming into focus, a little way from where the two ships had entered the clouds.

The Hunters' ship reappeared. Mal waited, expecting the Reavers to follow, but the seconds passed and there was no sign of another ship. The Hunters had won.

All the breath seemed to rush out of Mal's body at once. Behind him, Wash was lying back in his chair, eyes closed, arms swinging loose beside him.

"I'll go let the others know," Mal murmured, heading aft. And then I'm going to have a stiff drink or three, he added silently.

Mal paused in the doorway. Images of the chase pursued each other through his mind's eye; details that he had missed in the heat of the moment were now thrown into focus.

"Did you…?" he said to Wash then paused, shaking his head.

"Captain?" said Wash as Mal crossed back over to the window. Mal stared up at the Hunters' ship. His suspicions grew stronger.

"Son of a bitch…" he snarled.

"Mal? What is it?" Wash asked.

"I don't know," Mal answered truthfully, "Just a hunch. I'm taking a shuttle."

"What? Where're you going?!"

"To talk to Hatton. Tell Zoe that she's not to come after me: she's to watch out for the others. And she's not to let any of the Hunters aboard under any circumstances, understand?"

"But…"

"I'll be back as soon as I can. I just goin' to have a friendly word is all."

* * *

The airlock doors hissed open and Mal stepped aboard the Hunters' ship. The interior matched the exterior: dark and unlovely. The walls and doors were unadorned, gunmetal grey. He had docked on an upper deck near the stern. Looking ahead he could see two of the ship's guns, surrounded by a clutter of spare parts and storage containers. Crewmen lounged nearby, glaring suspiciously at him. Two large Hunters barred his way, broad arms crossed across their even broader chests.

A door slid open and Hatton appeared, followed by another four Hunters.

"Captain Reynolds, what a pleasant surprise!" he said jovially but Mal did not miss the flicker of panic in his eyes.

"Just thought I'd stop by," Mal said, sidestepping the Hunters barring his way, "I had to congratulate you on the way you handled that Reaver."

"Why, captain, I'm flattered," replied Hatton, "but I'm afraid I must ask you to return at another time. We're still at action stations you see and…"

"Yes, I can see you're cleared for action," said Mal, prodding the jumble surrounding the nearby gun.

"You keep your equipment in excellent condition," he continued, examining the gun more closely. A thin film of dust lay over the controls.

"Captain Reynolds, I really must insist…" said Hatton raising his voice.

"There's one thing that puzzles me though," said Mal, turning sharply to face Hatton. He knew what he was doing was foolish but he could not resist the opportunity to watch the self-satisfied smile fall from Hatton's face.

"Y'see I know a thing or two about Reavers myself," he continued, "Like how they like to fit grapplers on their ships. I wondered how you managed to slip by them, seeing how you got so close and all?"

"This ship didn't have any," said Hatton, voice dropping dangerously low. Mal was aware of the other Hunters shifting uncomfortably around him.

"That's as may be," Mal continued blithely, "but I'm surprised that they chose to follow you after you got past them. Reavers are savage but they ain't stupid. No reason for them to follow you with the rest of us sitting there like ducks in a shootin' gallery."

"They were Reavers, captain," said Hatton with great deliberation, "Monsters. There's no rhyme or reason to 'em."

"But they do say there's method to madness."

It was evident to Mal that he was taking the conversation in a direction that Hatton was determined not to follow. Part of him felt elated at having come so near to the truth but this was tempered by the realisation of the true danger he had placed himself in. He was wearing his pistol but Hatton had a whole ship of men at his back.

"I think it's time that you were leaving, Captain Reynolds," said Hatton as his crewmen began to close in around Mal, hands held loose by their weapons.

"And then there're your guns," said Mal, continuing as if Hatton had not spoken, "I didn't see any burns on 'em after you came out of that cloud: looked like they hadn't been fired at all."

"You're an observant man, Captain Reynolds," said Hatton, "Unusually so; a credit to your trade. It would be a shame if you were to suffer an accident."

"My crew know everything I know," said Mal, bluffing easily.

"Accidents happen all the time in these Woods. Whole ships go missing."

"I bet they do."

Mal's hand had dropped to his pistol without his being conscious of it. The Hunters were now openly laying hands on their weapons. Mal's gaze swept the deck, wondering if he could reach the cover of the airlock door before he took a bullet.

The door behind Hatton slid open and a wild-eyed Hunter burst in.

"Sir, sir! It's them; they're here! Reavers!"

"What?" snapped Hatton, rounding on the man, "I don't have time for this…"

"No, sir, you don't understand. It really is them. A real _chiang-bao hoe-tze duh_ Reaver ship!"

The colour drained from Hatton's face.

"We're all dead," he whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Mal looked round. The Hunters were staring at each other in wide-eyed panic. Hatton rubbed his hands together, a film of sweat glistening on his pale forehead.

"There never were any Reavers," Mal said.

Hatton shook his head. He looked as if he wanted to speak but could not force the words out.

"Where are they?" Mal asked the Hunter who had brought the news. The man shrugged helplessly and pointed to the door he had just come through.

Mal pushed past Hatton's men. They did not try to stop him. Past the door he found a ladder leading up to a clear dome built on top of the ship. From here Mal had a panoramic view of the nebula.

It was not difficult to spot the Reavers' ship. It was above the convoy, a little ahead on the port side, and closing fast. It reminded Mal of a squid he had once seen in an aquarium: a sleek, cone-shaped body, the prow covered in grasping metal tendrils. It was a predator: a true Reavers' ship.

"_Wuh de ma, _it is them."

Mal turned. Hatton was standing just behind him.

"This ship got any real guns?" Mal asked. Hatton shook his head.

"No: just fireworks."

"_Tah mah duh hwoon dahn!" _Mal cried.

"Do you have a shuttle?" he asked, slowly and deliberately. He restrained himself from striking Hatton there and then, his arm trembling with the effort.

"Yes… yes of course," Hatton said.

"Has it got a tow cable?"

"No… no, I don't think so."

"Mine has," said Mal, starting towards the ladder.

"Listen up!" he shouted to the Hunters as he emerged on the gun deck, his voice slipping effortlessly back into that of an army sergeant, "I want you to start gathering all the spare fuel, gasoline, cooking oil; anything that'll blow up, an' I want you to load it all into a shuttle."

The Hunters stared blankly at him, still frozen by their fear.

"Do as he says," Hatton ordered.

The Hunters exchanged some confused looks but they obeyed nevertheless. They worked slowly at first but quickly gathered speed as Mal strode among them, shouting and cursing with all the eloquence that six year military career can confer.

"Move it, you _niao se duh doo-gway_! We ain't fitting out a pleasure yacht here!"

A small pile of canisters and barrels had been heaped in the shuttle cockpit when the lookout returned:

"Cap'n, the Reavers are less than two hundred clicks away."

Mal sighed. He would have liked more time to prepare. This would have to do. He turned to address the two closest Hunters:

"You stay here. When you see me pass by you're to use the manual release on this shuttle. No one is to go aboard, you understand?"

The men nodded mutely.

"And you're coming with me," Mal continued, grabbing Hatton's arm and steering him towards his shuttle.

"I don't see why..." Hatton protested as Mal pushed him through the airlock.

"Because I need someone to man the tow cable while I pilot this thing," Mal explained, "And because I wouldn't trust you out of my sight for a second. Keeping you here is the only way I've got to ensure that your crew won't turn run for it."

Mal took Hatton to the stern and showed him the tow cable. It was a very basic machine, resembling an oversized rocket launcher. It used compressed air to fire a thick steel cable from the shuttle's stern, tipped with a large magnet shaped like a clawed foot. Normally a computer guidance system would be used to aim it but the nebula's radiation field meant that Hatton would have to do it manually.

Leaving Hatton crouched nervously over the cable gun, Mal took the pilot's seat. He wanted Wash there, as what he was about to attempt was far from simple, but he did not have time to reach _Serenity. _

Mal disengaged his shuttle from the Hunters' ship, came about and eased forward. He came about again in a long arc and saw the Hunters' shuttle floating free from the ship. Mal raised his shuttle's nose and passed above the unmanned shuttle. He heard the hiss of the gun behind him and the whirr of the cable drum.

"Got it!" Hatton called.

"Good," Mal replied, "Keep the line tight; as far as she'll go."

The drum whirred again as the cable played out behind the shuttle.

Mal turned his attention ahead, focusing on the Reavers' ship. The convoy had reformed into a tight little knot of ships and changed course to run ahead of the Reavers. The Reavers' ship was clearly much faster and was devouring the ground between them. The chase had leveled out, with the Reavers moving on the same plane as the convoy. Mal pushed his shuttle's thrusters to their fastest setting and headed straight for the Reavers.

The convoy passed beneath him in a blur of grey and brown. Now there was nothing but empty space between him and the curling metal tendrils of the Reavers' ship. Mal glanced down at the pilot's console to check the distance between them. He cursed: he had forgotten that the scanner would not work. He would have to guess as best he could.

"Stand by to release tow cable," he called.

"Ready," replied Hatton.

Mal's plan had suddenly become a lot more dangerous. If he acted too early he might give the Reavers time to come about. If he acted too late the Reavers might latch on to his shuttle. He wished he had Wash with him.

The ships closed. Mal's hands were tight on the shuttle's wheel, his eyes focused on the swarming tendrils on the prow of the Reavers' ship. This was another lethal game of chicken. Only this time it is real, he reflected grimly.

An sudden twinge of gut instinct told Mal they had reached distance. He wrenched the wheel back, pushing the shuttle's nose as high as it would go.

"Let go tow cable!" he cried.

"Tow cable detached!"

Hatton's reply was underscored by a deep, metallic thump as the clamp holding the tow cable was released. Mal kept the shuttle's pitch as high as he could. Out of the corner of the cockpit window he saw the unmanned shuttle hurtling towards the Reavers, hurled through empty space like a baseball from a pitcher's arm.

The tentacles on the Reavers' prow clustered together, hoping to envelop the tiny ship, but it was moving too fast for them to get a firm grip. The shuttle's nose struck the Reavers' hull. There was a flash of bright light as the explosives heaped in the shuttle cockpit detonated, followed by an even brighter flash, tinged with violet, as the engine exploded. Mal, blinded by the first light, was hurled from his seat by the shockwave that followed the second. His head struck the ceiling and he lost consciousness.

It was dark in the cockpit when he came to. The primary lights had gone out, leaving only the dull red from the emergency strips around the consoles. Mal was lying on the floor, just behind the pilot's seat. As he tried to recollect what had happened he realized how quiet it was. The engines had stopped. The air was cool, certainly colder than it had been before the explosion.

Using the pilot's seat as a support, Mal slowly got to his feet. The bump on his head was throbbing painfully and he could feel bruises on his arms and shoulders but he did not seem to have broken any bones. He turned to examine the pilot's console but was interrupted by a melancholy voice:

"Don't bother; I already tried. The engine is dead. We are running on emergency power."

Mal turned. Hatton was sitting with his back against a bulkhead, head tilted back as if he was examining the ceiling. Even in the cabin's ruddy half-light Mal could see how pale and sweaty he had become.

"There is enough food for a week, water for two and air for a month," Hatton continued in the same slow, mournful way, "And we're going to need every bit of it. Look out the window."

Mal frowned and turned to the cockpit window. The golden clouds of the nebula soared before him. There was no sign of the convoy or the Reavers.

"How long was I out?" Mal asked. Hatton shrugged.

"A few hours? I don't know. You were still out when I came around."

"And no ships? No sign of anyone?"

"No," Hatton shook his head slowly, "Do you expect one?"

Mal's affirmation froze on his tongue. Would he have gone looking for a tiny shuttle in this vast dust cloud, not knowing if a Reaver ship might be lurking just out of reach? Would he abandon a convoy of ships to go after two men? Was anyone else still alive? The Reavers might have survived the explosion; he and Hatton had.

"Accept it, captain, no one is coming for us," said Hatton with a grim smile.

Mal slumped down against the bulkhead facing Hatton.

"Someone might," he mumbled defiantly, "They might spread out an' search for us. They might come on us by accident. It's not impossible."

"What do you think stopped me taking that pistol of yours and putting a bullet through my brain?" said Hatton. His expression made his face seem almost skeletal. Mal suppressed a shudder and turned away.

The silence in the shuttle dragged out, turning the minutes into hours and the hours into days. Eventually Mal could not stand it any longer.

"So tell me," he said at length, "were there any real Reavers? I mean, before?"

Hatton sighed.

"Yes," he said, eyes fixed on the deck, "This place was crawling with them, once. It was too dangerous to travel through; you would have needed a battle fleet as an escort."

"So what happened?" Mal asked.

"Hunters came. Real Hunters, I mean," said Hatton with a grimace, "Nasty buggers; hard as steel and too crazy to be afraid. They went into the Woods, fought the Reavers like they were Reavers themselves. Hunted like them; killed like them. I met some of the older ones; I can't imagine there was much difference between them and an actual Reaver."

"How'd you end up here?"

"Living the high life without the high credit rating to maintain it. I have too many debtors back in the Core, so I came out to the Black. That's when I heard about this place. Most of the old Reaver Hunters had been killed or gone mad or drank themselves to death by then. There were only a few old timers left, guarding the occasional convoy."

"And you saw some easy money."

"It wasn't difficult," said Hatton with a shrug, "The Hunters thought they had driven the Reavers off for good. I bought them off, recruited a lot of toughs who looked the part and set to work."

"You put on a good show," said Mal sarcastically.

"It's all about looking the part," said Hatton, "Give the dupes some daredevil heroics, a few fireworks and they're eating out of your hand."

"But ships still went missing."

"Oh the nebula had to keep its reputation or people would start to think they could do without us. It wasn't as bad as you think," said Hatton, seeing Mal's expression, "Most of them were inside jobs: ships that 'fell behind' while the convoy ran away or something like that. And if we couldn't find someone to do that… All I can say is, we made it quicker than if Reavers really had got them."

"And no one saw through it?"

"Before you? No. Some had their suspicions but they were so grateful to make it out the other side they didn't say anything. We relied on it. Besides, not many people have ever seen a real Reaver attack and lived to talk about it. Not many of them choose to risk it twice.

"You saw through us. How do you know so much about them?"

Mal turned away, hoping to end the conversation there.

"Oh come on, Captain, what's the use in keeping secrets now, when you know you're about to die?" Hatton asked bitterly.

Mal kept his head turned away but he could feel the pressure of the silence on his chest. The temptation to say what he had left unsaid for so many years was suddenly very great. Hatton was probably right; he was going to die in that shuttle. It would be no different to speaking into a void.

"Nine years back," he began, choosing his words with great care, "my regiment was posted to the first moon of New Atlanta, in the Taiping system. There was an old Alliance space port there that central command wanted to use for an offensive. If we took it, we could get right around the Alliance's forward defenses and hit 'em in the flank. No Alliance presence there for months. No human life of any kind.

"Y'see, just after the war broke out, a Reaver ship crash landed on that moon. The Alliance garrison had been redeployed somewhere else. The militia couldn't contain them. They wiped out every man, woman and child that didn't reach a ship in time. They say the port commander was more worried about savin' the ships than he was about savin' the people. Guess I don't need to tell you that he was on the first boat out of there. He left two hundred thousand civilians to be slaughtered like rats.

"So that was what we found when we got there; a space port covering half a moon, infested with Reavers. The navy couldn't bomb them without damaging the facilities. That would cost money. So they sent the footsloggers in to flush them out; me and my regiment were some of the first.

"They said later that there weren't more than a hundred Reavers on that moon, yet by the end we had to deploy an entire division to destroy them. Whole battalions were wiped out; thousands killed.

"It was like a jungle but made of metal; all dark corridors and ladders and great empty spaces. They'd torn the generators to bits, so we fought by flashlight. You'd hear the screams of other companies coming out of the dark around you. That's how they fight: they come out of the dark, to capture and mutilate and then retreat before you can turn a gun on them.

"Of course, as it dragged on, ammo began to run low. You'd use your bayonet but then it'd break and you'd use your gun like a club. I saw some men tearing at the Reavers with their fingernails.

"You want to know how I know about Reavers? 'Cause I spent a month crawlin' through the darkness with them; fighting them; watching my friends being torn to pieces by them. That's how I made corporal. I was the only one of my unit who came back when we got jumped half a dozen of them in a sewer. That's how I know Reavers."

There was silence in the cabin. Hatton just stared at Mal, his expression was one of terrified respect. It made Mal uncomfortable. He rose, intending to take the pilot's seat for a change of view. He turned to the window just in time to see a shadow pass over the shuttle.

Mal froze. He could hear the blood rumbling in his ears. The shuttle lurched as something grappled with it.

"A ship?!" Hatton gasped, looking up.

"Question is, who's is it?" Mal murmured.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The shuttle jolted as the larger ship came alongside. In the cabin, Mal was tearing panels of steel grating from the ceiling. Hatton, still propped up against the bulkhead, stared blankly at the airlock door.

"Hey!" Mal shouted, dropping another panel, "Hey! Get up! We've only got a few minutes."

Hatton looked up at him.

"What's the use?" he mumbled.

Mal stalked over. He grabbing Hatton and hauled him to his feet.

"I am _not _going without a fight!" he snarled in Hatton's face, "Now you're gonna help me put up this barricade or, I swear, I will use my last bullet on myself and leave you for the gorram Reavers!"

He gave a Hatton a shove. He stumbled, steadying himself against the bulkhead.

"You're crazy…" Hatton whimpered.

"I've heard that before," Mal replied with a shrug.

They just had time to gather the panels into a mound before they heard a 'pop': the airlock had been forced from the outside. Mal crouched as low as he could behind the panels. He had drawn his pistol, the only firearm aboard, but he had no extra rounds. Hatton wielded the largest wrench from the shuttle's toolbox. Mal doubted that they would stop more than one or two Reavers before they were overrun, and then he would be forced to kill both Hatton and himself. Despite his threat, he would never dream of leaving Hatton to the Reavers. No one deserved that; not even Hatton.

Shooting Hatton would not be hard, but what about himself? Could he do it, Mal wondered; could he really turn a gun on himself? He had shot more men than he could remember, but the thought of suicide had never occurred to him. Even after the war, he had not been tempted to lie back and let it all drift away. The desire to live, to carry on in spite of everything else, had always been a little stronger. Could he overcome it now, faced with an unspeakably cruel death?

The airlock door slid back with a screech. Mal peered over the panels but he could see nothing in the smoke and shadows. The thin red finger of a laser sight appeared above his head. Mal ducked instinctively. His finger pulled back the hammer of his pistol.

He paused. Reavers did not use laser sights.

"Who's there?" he called, still keeping his head well down.

"Cap'n?"

Mal raised his head. Figures materialised out of the smoke, condensing into the solid shapes of Jayne and Zoe. They were both heavily armed.

Mal leapt over the barricade with a whoop of joy. He swept Zoe up into a hug and was within an inch of hugging Jayne too before their eyes met.

"You okay, sir?" Zoe asked.

"Just a few bumps and bruises," said Mal, making a show of brushing himself down, hoping to recover a little dignity.

"What's he doing here?" Jayne asked, gesturing to Hatton, who was still crouching behind the barricade.

"He came along for the ride," said Mal, his manner deliberately offhand.

"But…"

"It doesn't matter. How'd you find us?"

"Well, we saw the trick with the shuttles and figured it had to be you," said Zoe, leading them through the airlock and back aboard _Serenity, _"At first we thought we'd lost you for good: the explosion tossed both you and the Reavers through a dust cloud. We could have combed the nebula for years and never caught sight of you. But, well…"

They stepped into the dining area. The first thing that Mal noticed was that the table was covered with bits of paper; old technical drawings, newspapers, a piece of wallpaper. Someone had scrawled mathematical equations all over them in thick, black pencil. When they had run out of paper, they had started writing on the deck. They had worked their way across the room, up the walls and down again, around the table and almost into the aft corridor. At the very end of the trail he found River, drawing crude pictures of cats and flowers on the deck with the stub of a pencil.

"Soon as your shuttle vanished into that cloud she ran in here and started writin'," Zoe explained, "Wouldn't listen to anybody for the best part of half an hour. Then she jumped up and handed Wash a note with a new heading on it. We put the ship about. An hour later and… there you were."

"I've tried to follow her working," said Simon, who was standing over River and watching her draw, "It's pretty standard notation until she reaches the wall, although far more advanced than anything I ever covered in high school. But then… I've never seen a system like it. I think she made it up herself."

Mal looked more closely at the equations on the wall. He had never studied beyond basic arithmetic but he knew that mathematics should include numbers somewhere or, if you were very strange, letters. These had few of either. Strange glyphs or runes had taken their place. One section was just a series of vertical dashes at changing intervals. Another was so small and intricate that Mal was sure that you would need a magnifying glass to follow it correctly. The effect was almost mystical. It was a language to capture the inexpressible.

Mal tore himself away from the equations and turned back to Zoe. There were more pressing problems.

"Where's the rest of the convoy?"

"Gone," said Zoe with a shrug, "The Hunters ran for it as soon as your shuttle hit the Reavers. The rest of them followed. They could be anywhere by now."

"Can you get us back on course?" Mal asked Hatton. Hatton, who had been staring dumbfounded at River's equations, looked up.

"Yes… yes, I think so. The nebula's really not that difficult to navigate. We just put it about so…"

"Save it," Mal snapped. He did not need to deal with the drama that would inevitably follow were his crew to learn the truth about Hatton. He doubted Jayne would take the deception kindly and was liable to express displeasure with a blade.

"Come with me," he ordered Hatton, guiding him up to the bridge.

"Good to see you, cap'n," said Wash, although he did not turn around. His focus was on the surrounding clouds. They were thicker here and a darker gold, almost the colour of bronze.

"Seen anything?" Mal asked.

"Not a thing," Wash replied, "Someone could fly two hundred metres past us and we wouldn't see them."

Mal kept watch while Hatton showed Wash how to return to their original course. From what Mal understood of their jargon, it appeared that it was possible to shave a few days off their journey. The Hunters had discovered other lightly irradiated flight paths that were considerably shorter than the one they led the convoys by. A longer journey allowed them to charge more for their services, Mal reflected angrily.

Mal's thoughts turned from anger against Hatton to the problem of what he would do with him if they escaped the Dark Woods. Kicking him out the airlock had its appeal but Mal was not quite that cold yet, whatever his reputation might say. Turning him over to the law was out of the question with River and Simon aboard. That only left letting him go, which could be dangerous. Alone and faced with death Hatton was hardly formidable but with his gang of supposed-Hunters at his back he could become a considerable threat. Mal doubted that they would let someone who knew the truth behind their scheme just fly away.

"Alright," said Wash, "We're all set. I'll just turn us around and then…"

A dark mass had appeared in the clouds ahead, a little to port. It was growing larger and darker every second. Wash seized the wheel and swung _Serenity _to starboard. Her whole frame jerked right as the Reaver ship, trailing streams of dark smoke, burst from the cloud. It hurtled past _Serenity_, passing so close to the bridge window that Mal could see the individual rivets on her dark hull.

"A trap!" Hatton moaned.

"Yeah, and our shuttle was the bait," said Mal, "Wash, get us out of here!"

"You don't need to tell me!" Wash replied, pushing _Serenity _to her top speed.

Mal turned from the bridge and sprinted back to the galley. Zoe and the other crewmembers looked up curiously as he entered.

"Reavers! Get to your places!" Mal shouted as he barged past. Grabbing a chair, he pulled it up against the aft wall of the dining area. By standing on it he could see through the window above the aft door. _Serenity_ had gained some distance while the Reavers came about but now the Reavers were directly in her wake. The collision with the shuttle had shredded their prow, severing most of the tentacle-like cables, but their ship was clearly spaceworthy. Worse still, it was gaining on them. Mal estimated that they had about fifteen minutes before contact.

"They're coming up on us fast, Wash," he said as he stepped back onto the bridge, "Don't reckon we can outrun them."

"You got a plan?" asked Wash, arms straining with the effort of piloting _Serenity _at such a high speed.

"Of sorts. If we're gonna get boarded, might as well be on our terms. Keep flyin' as straight as you can. When she latches hold, I want them to come through the airlock and into the hold."

"Where you'll be waiting to roll out the welcome wagon?"

"Oh yes."

Mal turned to where Hatton was sat on the co-pilot's chair, head in hands. Mal grabbed his shoulder and forced him to his feet.

"W-what do you want?" said Hatton.

"I want you to act like a man for once in your gorram life!" said Mal, pushing him towards the stairs and down to the hold. There they found Jayne, Zoe and Book laying out weapons behind the makeshift barricade of cargo containers, empty barrels and other assorted junk.

"They're boarding us," Mal announced as he and Hatton descended from the catwalk to the deck, "We can't outrun 'em. Shepherd, go get the others, Inara and River too. We're gonna need every pair o' hands on this boat."

Mal and Hatton joined Zoe and Jayne in emptying the armoury. A minute later, Book returned with Kaylee, Simon, Wash and Inara.

"I've given River a sedative," Simon explained, "She was becoming hysterical with the Reavers so close. She's in the infirmary. If things should go bad…"

"We won't leave her for them," Mal reassured him. He turned to address the rest of the crew:

"We're gonna get boarded. Our only hope now is to hold 'em here. Reavers ain't dumb but they are savage. They'll come chargin' through that airlock and try to get at the first piece of meat they see: us. If we throw enough lead at them, chances are they'll fall back. Like I said, they ain't dumb. They won't stick around for a fight they can't win.

"I won't lie to you. Our chances ain't good. Our weapons ain't the most impressive an' we can't risk using grenades in such a close space. They're sure to outnumber us. They don't feel fear or pain like normal men. And they don't feel mercy either. If we're overrun, you save your last bullet for yourself."

Mal looked around. The faces of his crew were very pale. Mal made sure to hold their gaze in turn, forcing himself to appear calm and resolute. He saw the same resolution reflected back at him, even in Kaylee, who was trembling gently. The only one who looked truly terrified was Hatton. His eyes were wild and his cheeks had become tinged with green. Mal felt no pity for him; only contempt.

"We'll divide into pairs: a shooter and loader," he continued, trying not to look at Hatton, "Kaylee, Shepherd, Inara, you three are loaders: same for you, Hatton. Me, Zoe, Jayne and Wash will be shooters. Shooters stay at the barricade. Loaders stand behind, take their empty weapons and hand them loaded ones. Doc', I need you on standby if anyone goes down, understand? Just drag them to the back and keep them from bleeding to death, that's all. Got it?"

Everyone nodded. Mal felt a sudden flush of pride. He knew, with the gut instinct of an old solider, that they would stand and fight when the airlock opened, every one of them.

They took their places, crouched behind the barricade. The loading team had the weapons laid out in neat rows beside the boxes of bullets and spare cartridges. Zoe and Mal both selected rifles to begin with, hoping to pick off a few Reavers as the doors opened. Jayne cradled his beloved Vera. He rarely had the opportunity to fire her in anger. Mal hoped that she was everything Jayne claimed she was.

_Serenity _gave a violent jolt that nearly toppled the barricade onto the crew. From the far side of the door they could hear the clanging, screeching sounds of two unfamiliar airlocks becoming aligned. Mal turned to his crew, a reassuring smile on his lips. Inside, however, he could feel the old terrors rising. He remembered the dank smell of sewers; the patter of bare feet on concrete; the war cries, bellowing in the night, drowning out the gunfire. Cold sweat plastered his shirt to his back. He clutched his rifle tightly and forced himself to look around. That was another time, another battle, he told himself. There are no lurking shadows here.

A loud 'clunk' from the airlock drew his attention. There was silence now on the far side. Then a hiss, as the doors slowly parted. A jet of white steam gushed into the hold. Mal, Zoe and Jayne rose slightly, resting their weapons on the barricade. A deep, blood red light glimmered between the doors. Mal saw the silhouette of a head. He fired. Jayne and Zoe followed suite, firing steadily into the narrow gap. Mal could hear noises coming from beyond the door: animal screams, baying voices and snapping jaws. A face appeared in the gap, the skin blistered charcoal black. Mal sent a bullet into its forehead. The face disappeared. The gap widened. Two Reavers appeared, jostling with one another to be the first through. Zoe and Jayne felled them easily.

The gap grew wider. Like water through a sluice gate, the Reavers poured into the hold. Mal had a brief but all too vivid image of snarling, deformed faces with devils' eyes. He and Zoe dropped their rifles and seized the shotguns lying at hand. Raising the muzzles, they sprayed the oncoming Reavers with shot. The foremost dropped, instantly trampled by those behind. The Reavers retaliated with a barrage of missiles: javelins, bolas, throwing axes, even pieces of scrap metal. The shooters at the barricade ducked, rose and returned fire. More Reavers fell, now howling in pain. The screams rose higher as the next rank crushed their fallen comrades underfoot in the rush to get to the barricade.

"Reload!" Mal bawled, dropping the shotgun and seizing another rifle.

The doors were fully open now. A solid mass of Reavers rushed towards the barricade, screaming, their blades flashing above them like stars. Mal, Zoe and Jayne continued to fire steadily. Sometimes it took several bullets to stop one Reaver; they would drag themselves hand over hand across the deck, seemingly oblivious to the pain of their shattered limbs.

The first wave collapsed, ravaged by gunfire, but a few determined souls rushed ahead regardless. A gibbering little man, his cheeks pinned back to reveal his full set of teeth, launched himself at Zoe. She dropped her empty rifle and drew her favoured carbine. The first shot broke the Reaver's arm. The second blew a whole six inch hole in his stomach but it was only the third, right through his chest, that finally stopped him moving. Jayne had two coming at him at once. Vera roared. The impact of the bullets actually lifted the Reavers off their feet.

"Everybody fire!" Mal shouted as he emptied his shotgun into the face of the closest Reaver. A grey porridge of brains and skull fragments rained down on the barricade. Mal dropped the shotgun and grabbed two handguns. He stood straight, arms thrust out, firing wildly into the mass ahead of him. He could smell blood and hot iron. Screams and the whistle of bullets filled his ears. He was aware of bodies falling around him, of hands clawing at the barricade and blades slashing at his face, but it all blurred into one endless, repeating nightmare of light and sound.

There was a crash on his right. A whole section of the barricade had given way. A huge Reaver, a head taller than Mal, leapt through the breach. His lower jaw had been removed, replaced with a mane of barbed wire. He hurled himself at Mal, hands reaching from his throat. Mal twisted but the Reaver was too close for Mal to turn his guns on him in time.

An arm wrapped itself around the Reaver's chest. The Reaver was pulled back. Jayne was there, darting under the Reaver's arm and burying a knife in its chest. Another Reaver came at the breach but Jayne was there to meet it. Another knife appeared in his hands so quickly Mal could not swear that he had not conjured it out of the air. Jayne slashed at the Reaver, opening its belly from ribcage to pelvis but still it bore down on him, whooping like an ape.

Mal started forward to help. A Reaver dived across the barrier, bearing him to the floor. Mal landed painfully on his right shoulder. He whipped his left hand up, hammering at the deformed face above him with the butt of his pistol. The Reaver jerked back, avoiding the pistol. Its hand darted forward, swift as a snake, and buried a dagger in Mal's upper arm. Mal screamed. His right hand came up, still clutching his other pistol. The Reaver grabbed Mal's wrist. Mal struggled with it but he was losing blood fast and was beginning to feel faint.

Zoe's boot caught the Reaver in the temple, rolling it aside. Strong hands gripped Mal under the shoulders, dragging him away from the barrier, as Zoe calmly pumped three bullets into the Reaver's chest.

"Hold still," Mal heard Simon say. A needle was jabbed into his shoulder. Then someone was taking hold of the Reaver's dagger, still lodged in Mal's arm, and sliding it back out. Mal screamed again, feet drumming on the deck. Now Simon was in front of him, deftly applying a tourniquet to the wound.

"It's a clean cut," he murmured gently, "It should heal up fine."

Mal grunted his thanks and motioned for someone to help him to his feet. Kaylee crossed over to him. Dropping her handgun, she leant Mal her shoulder, supporting him as he moved back to the barricade.

The first wave of Reavers had been defeated. Their bodies lay thick on the deck. Some lay draped across the barricade, their wounds still smoking gently. A second wave was already massing in the airlock door but they seemed more interested in their wounded comrades than charging the barricade again. The space around the airlock door had become a mixture of battle and a feeding frenzy. Mal saw one woman, naked breasts pierced with nails, drop to her knees and sink her teeth into the throat of a fallen Reaver, like a dog pouncing on a rabbit.

His crew had a breathing space. Mal looked round. Jayne was the worst hurt: the dying Reaver had sunk his teeth deep into Jayne's shoulder. The rest were all battered, with some impressive cuts here and there, but no serious wounds.

"Is it over?" asked Kaylee. Her voice sounded very soft and small.

Mal shook his head. The Reavers would soon regroup. Already he could see dark shadows massing in the red light beyond the airlock.

"How much ammo' we got left?" he asked, casting his eyes over the area behind the barricade.

"Not much," said Book ruefully, "I would say no more than a hundred rounds."

Mal grimaced. When the Reavers charged again, they would soon be reduced to fighting hand-to-hand. There was only one option left to them.

"We have to charge 'em," he announced, stepping away from Kaylee. He bent down to retrieve a shotgun from the deck.

"Makes sense," said Zoe, nodding, "Throw some grenades into their hold. We might even be able to reach their airlock controls; disengage ourselves."

"You wanna charge into _that?" _Jayne said, pointing aghast across the bloody deck.

"No-one's forcin' you to come," said Mal, thumbing cartridges into the shotgun, "It's unlikely any who go across this barrier will come back, but it might be that they'll give those who stay behind a chance to escape."

He stooped again, retrieving a pair of freshly loaded pistols. He pushed them into his belt. Then he turned, opened a nearby box and took out a bandoleer of grenades.

"So who's coming with me?" he asked, adjusting the bandoleer across his chest.

"I am," said Zoe, taking another bandoleer from the box.

"Gorram it! Count me in too," Jayne growled, putting one bandoleer across his chest and another folded across his shoulder.

"And me."

Mal stared in amazement as Hatton selected the last bandoleer. Mal looked into his eyes and saw nothing but desperation.

"Please," Hatton said, seeing the refusal forming on Mal's lips, "I have to."

"Alright," Mal said heavily, "The rest of you, stay at the barricade. Load the rifles. You're gonna be our angels of mercy if it looks like we're to be captured."

The others nodded. Mal could see tears welling up in some eyes but he turned away, trying to keep himself focused on the task ahead.

"We'll go in a knot," he said, "Keep close. Shoot anything that gets close. Wait for my signal to use your grenades. Got it? Go!"

They stepped over the barricade, Mal and Jayne on the left, Zoe and Hatton on the right. They walked slowly, picking their way through the corpses, weapons raised, eyes fixed on the airlock. Most of the wounded Reavers had been killed. Only a few continued to put up a fight. Soon their comrades would look up and see the isolated group, advancing towards them like witless sheep.

A skinny creature, its face a patchwork of scars, spotted them and loped forward, a blood-spattered club in its hand. Zoe fired first, her carbine bullet taking it through the throat. The noise attracted the other Reavers. They rose and advanced together, as if guided by a pack instinct.

Mal did not need to give the order. The three others opened fire in a heartbeat, the crack and boom of their guns loud in his ears. The Reavers screeched as they charged forward. They screeched louder as the bullets tore into them. Mal and his crew continued to advanced, their firing methodical and precise.

"Halt!" Mal cried. They were six paces from the airlock door, at most. Here they could actually see into the dark, twisting interior of the Reavers' ship, lit by the blood red light. Skulls and pelts of human skin hung from the walls. Dead Reavers, slain by their comrades in the fury of combat, lay on the deck.

"Zoe! Jayne! Grenades!" Mal ordered. Zoe and Jayne paused to draw their grenades, while Mal and Hatton continued to fire into the mass of gibbering, clawing monsters around them.

The grenades flew in an arc above the horde, landing somewhere down in the Reavers' hold.

"Drop!" Mal shouted, falling to one knee without breaking the rhythm: aim, fire, reload, repeat.

The explosion tore into the Reaver horde. Bodies and parts of bodies hurtled into the air.

"Again!" Mal cried. This time Jayne threw a whole bandoleer through the airlock, the explosion of one grenade triggering the others. Dozens of Reavers were destroyed, torn to pieces by the blast, but still more came on, vomited up from the dark throat of their ship.

"How many of these _tyen-sah duh uh-muo_ are there?!" Jayne bellowed.

"We've gotta fall back!" said Zoe.

"No! There it is: the controls!" Mal shouted. He pointed to a large lever mounted on the wall beside the Reavers' airlock.

"We'll never make it!" Jayne protested.

"Cover me!"

Hatton shouldered past Mal, a pistol in each hand. He charged forward into the Reavers, screaming a wordless battle cry.

"Come back!" Mal yelled. He took a step forward, ready to pursue Hatton, when a group of Reavers moved to block him. He fired into them, dropping them each in turn with a blast of his shotgun, but by the time the last one fell there was no way of reaching Hatton.

He was actually aboard the Reavers' ship now, still moving forward, pistols blazing wildly ahead. A Reaver grasped his shoulder but Hatton turned and, with a strength Mal would not have credited him with, he felled the Reaver with a right hook to the jaw. Zoe and Jayne cast astonished looks at Mal but they were powerless to help Hatton: the press of Reavers between them was simply too great. All they could do was try and distract the Reavers with their own fire.

Hatton had reached the control lever. He dropped one pistol and, still firing with the other, grasped the lever with his free hand. He hauled at it but it did not move. The Reavers were all around him. Mal lost sight him of him in the crush. He dropped his empty shotgun and drew his own pistols, ready to charge to the rescue, when the airlock doors rumbled above him.

"He did it!" Jayne shouted.

"He's gonna be trapped!" cried Zoe.

Mal froze. The crowd around the lever fell back for an instant. Hatton was still standing, blood streaming from his wounds. He had lost his pistol in the crush but had somehow seized a Reaver's curved axe. Now he turned from his assailants and hacked at the lever. Sparks flew as the blade bit into the metal. Three strokes and the hinge collapsed, rendering the lever useless.

"Mal, get back!" Jayne cried as the airlock doors began to draw closed.

Mal could not move. He could only stare as the Reavers hurled themselves at Hatton. He buried the axe in the shoulder of one but it was torn from his hand as the body fell. Hatton's eyes cast around from some other weapon. His eyes met Mal; eyes filled with terror and pleading.

Mal raised his pistol. His hand was steady and his aim true. The bullet struck Hatton in the forehead. Zoe and Jayne seized Mal's arms and thrust him back as the airlock doors slammed shut. Even as the doors closed and Hatton's was borne down by the weight of the Reavers, Mal fancied that he saw a smile on Hatton's face.

* * *

"Thank you, Captain Reynolds, this all looks in order."

Swearengen's 'banker' was a slimy little man with a thin, drooping moustache and a gang of muscle-headed thugs who were busy unloading the gold from _Serenity's _hold.

"Looks like you ran into some trouble on the way here," the man said, glancing at the sling on Mal's arm, "No Fed's, I trust?"

"No, nothing like that," Mal shook his head. They had managed to clear up the bodies and the bloodstains from the deck but the bullet scars would remain.

"Say, did you get to meet that Wade Hatton fella?" asked the banker, "They say he's a hell of a guy."

Mal let his gaze drop as he considered his reply.

"Yeah," he said at length, "I guess he was."

THE END


End file.
